Mikito’s tone turned reverent. “Black Tortoise. They’re the best warriors we have. And there’s only six of them.”

Takara snorted. “But they’re a snotty bunch. Think they’re too good to mingle with the rest of us.”

Surprised by that, Ryuichi paused to stare at the building. There was something about it that set the hair on the back of his neck to full attention. An eeriness about it as if it were something to be avoided.

But before he could speak, a plant to his left reached out for him.

Takara pulled him back and slapped at the bright green leaves. “Careful. Some of the plants here can be vicious, especially this close to ōmagatoki.”

Ōmagatoki . . . the dreadful time at dusk when the moon god, Tsukuyomi, was so close to catching up to his wife, Amaterasu, the sun goddess, that it caused the veil between this world and the spirit world to blend together and become thin. So thin that the yōkai and others could cross between realms.

Ryuichi had heard these stories all his life—about how the great goddess Haruka had been created to guard the gates between the realms during the ōmagatoki.

But due to treachery and betrayal, she’d fallen and left a sliver open that no one could close. Now, not even the niō, inari, koma-inu, or other guardians could hold back the countless demons intent on infecting the mortal world. It was why all of Japan was in chaos and disorder—because this evil was leaking in, and there was no way to keep it out.

No way to seal the barrier Haruka had once protected so zealously.

He wasn’t sure if he believed that or not. It made a good ghost story. “You don’t really think that, do you?”

Mikito sucked his breath in sharply. “Yes, we do. And you will, too, after you see some of the things we battle.”

“But,” Takara warned, “ōmagatoki isn’t the worst. Ushi mairi is when you must make sure that you’re safe in your room.”

The hours between one and three in the morning. “Why?”

Mikito lowered his voice as if afraid of being heard. “The worst oni come out, and they are looking for easy prey.”

Takara nodded in agreement. “Don’t be that easy prey, Ryuichi.”

He didn’t plan on it any more than he planned on being an oni’s lunch. But then he hadn’t planned on any of this either.

Sadly, life had a way of taking him places he had no desire to go.

The three had reached the yellow barracks. Takara opened the door for him.

Ryuichi hesitated. Inside were at least fifty other students, all dressed in yellow kimonos. “Are some of them yōkai?” he whispered.

Or, with his luck, something far worse.

Mikito shook his head. “They come from all over Japan. Like you, they’re here to study and hone their skills.”